Unwanted
by captainodonewithyou
Summary: A very unpleasant Blackbeard shows up at Emma's front door. (pirate)


She'd only just gotten home from work and started a pot of cocoa when she heard the knock on the door. She froze and glanced at it, wracking her mind for who it could be. Henry and Mary-Margaret shouldn't be home from school for another hour, and David had specifically told her he'd be staying late at the station. Killian was 'clearing his mind', which meant working on the Jolly until dusk. Her eyes narrowed and she turned the heat down on the stove, curiosity getting the better of her as she walked around the counter. There was another knock, harder now, and she paused, reaching for a knife from the sink.  
Just in case.  
She let her hand rest on the handle for just a moment, knife clutched tightly in her other hand. Then she took a breath and pulled the door open, feeling her body tense as her eyes fell over the man on the other side.  
Her heart nearly stopped as she looked him over. He was tall and well built, with leathery skin that crinkled around his eyes and mouth. He wore leather and his dark hair was speckled with gray. She finally met his eyes. His gaze was hard and blue and oh so familiar.  
She hadn't met him, not officially. But she knew who he was. Watched him from a distance, the closest Killian allowed her to get to him. Watched how Killian truly cowered in his wake. How when they'd first seen the ship in the distance he'd paled and clutched her arm. How the only time she'd ever seen honest fear in Killian's eyes was when they first fell upon this man. His father.  
She held her ground, watching him cooly and forcing her jumping heart to calm and give her a strong demeanor. Her fingers clenched harder against the knife at her side and she stood up straighter. She was certainly not one to scare, but something about this man felt so wrong, so off, if Killian's utter terror in his presence wasn't enough. He was bad news.  
A faintly familiar smirk curled his lips, but it was anything but the teasing smile she knew. It sent a chill down her spine, and she nearly took a step back. But she caught herself, scolding herself internally. She had no good reason not to stand up to him; she'd fought plenty of dangerous thugs in the past.  
He was no different from any other criminal. She kept repeating it to herself, trying to convince herself.  
"What are you doing here?" she asked cooly, trying to sound surer than she felt and trying to ignore how familiar his eyes were.  
"Is that how you greet your guests, my dear?" he said with a strong lilt, eyebrow shooting up. His eyes were drifting lazily over her now and she tensed. He made no effort to be subtle. Her heart jumped uncomfortably, and she slowly raised her knife in front of her.  
"It's how I treat cold-hearted asses," she assured him, clenching her teeth into a sarcastic smile and wishing looks could kill. His smirk grew, and it wasn't hard to see the amusement painted over his face.  
"Spitfire, you are," he mused, stepping forward. She pointed her knife but he brushed both it and her aside, stepping into her apartment. "I reckon that's why he fancies you."

"I don't think I invited you in," she hissed, turning on her heel to watch him. He seemed to not hear her, meandering towards the stove as if he owned the place. She could've stabbed him now, at least three times over. But something was stopping her.  
"No, no, I don't think you did," he glanced over his shoulder and smiled at her again, that thoroughly polite grin that hid something cold and slippery and made her heart freeze and then race to catch up on beats.  
She bit the inside of her cheek, rolling her eyes over him again, this time searching. For weapons. A sword at his hip. A dagger in his belt… No, two. She took a deep breath. She was being ridiculous.  
"Look, you've made your point," she growled. He watched her a moment but then looked slowly back to the pot of cocoa he'd stopped beside. "You're in my apartment, you win," she bit back a grimace as he raised his arm and dipped his fingers gracefully into the pot, swirling the warm liquid, then bringing his hand to his mouth, flicking his tongue out to lick the chocolate off. The rest of her sentence fell from her tongue and he stared again at her, amusement in his eyes only growing. Her skin crawled.  
"Won't you even ask why I've paid you a visit, darling?" he asked, stepping slowly around the counter, towards her.  
She raised her knife threateningly, but still he came closer, eyes never leaving hers. Her teeth were digging into her cheek, painfully now. She was so angry at herself, at her frozen muscles, at her fear, and he just kept coming towards her and her body had betrayed her and refused to move. She hated this man. She felt the pure rage within her, it was hard to miss. It creeped from the pit into her stomach, seeping through her organs and muscles and encompassing all fibers of her being. It scared her even more than he did, she thought, because there was nothing frightening about the man.  
Except that Killian was terrified of him.  
"I don't have to," she muttered, "You're here to terrorize Killian, I can read between the lines," her voice cracked at his name and she spoke more harshly to cover it up, "He's not here, so you wasted a trip."  
She motioned towards the door but he once again either missed the hint or was blatantly ignoring her.  
_ So that's where Killian got it from. _  
The thought was strangely chilling and she forced it to the back of her mind. Killian was _not_ this man. He was nothing like this man. He could not help the traits he'd received from him. Hell, he probably actively fought the ones he recognized, going off of the way he looked at his father. The hurt in his eyes that he didn't even lift a finger to hide, the slight cower, the way he seemed to completely _break_.  
And suddenly she was just pissed, all the fear gone. Whatever he'd done to hurt him, hurt Killian, that deeply— fearing him felt unfathomably weak. Like she was failing Killian just as thoroughly as the man had (and she wouldn't credit him as his father because a father was supposed to be anything but who this man was).  
"Alas, I've no interest in hurting him," he smiled again, that stilling predatory smile, and she firmed her stance, steadying her grip on the knife that still was raised just in front of her. "I'm here for you, my dear," and he stepped closer still, only halting when his chest was nearly pressed to the tip of the knife that she'd lifted up completely now, elbow bent just slightly. Her heart was still racing, but she was capable. She had to keep reminding herself that she was in control. She had the weapon against him. But something made her feel strangely otherwise— as if he had her in a noose. It made her stomach flip uneasily but she refused to back down.  
"My sons dalliance, I understand. I've been hoping to meet you," he raised his hand to brush her knife away, and it was clear he expected her hold to be weak. But she was steady now, and she stared at him, hard. "So… He's your burden now?"  
The lightness of his tone, the casual inflection and the way his face remained still, all of it melted angrily in her mind. She may not have had her parents as a child, but she was sure now that she had it far better than what Killian had. Far better than the unsureness that had developed within him, a fear she saw in his eyes daily. A result of clearly only ever being another worthless mouth to feed, in the eyes of his own father.  
_Burden_.  
The word twisted horribly in her mind and then she was a child again. She was coming home from her very first day of school, proudly clinging to her brand new purple backpack. She had a surprise inside, that she'd spent all of her craft time making. Jumping from the school bus, she skipped to the front door of her home and into the kitchen, already digging into her backpack to present her foster parents with the drawing. But she'd glanced up, only an instant, and upon both of their grim faces caught her first look at a sympathy she'd quickly become accustomed to, the expression that she learned to expect.  
Burden. While she waited for her social worker, she'd taken out her drawing. Ran her little fingers over the crayon-squiggled faces. Mrs. Swan, Mr. Swan, and herself. Above the people, she'd written the word, sounding it out exactly how her teacher had taught her.  
_F-A-M-L-Y._ She'd whispered it softly to herself, over and over again.  
_ "Family. Family. Family,"_ until it had no meaning anymore.  
She'd thrown the picture away in the big trashcan beside the fridge.

He was staring at her, and by the sparkle in his eye she could tell that he was aware he'd hit a nerve.  
"Get out," she said, softly but with venom. He still didn't flinch and _dammit_ it was getting old. "I said get out," she repeated, raising the knife to his throat, "You aren't welcome in my home. Or in this town. Or anywhere even remotely _near_ him," her voice got louder and surer as she spoke, mirroring the rage that was slowly encompassing her.  
"Aren't afraid of a fight, are you darling?" there was a deeper coolness to his eyes, and his tongue flicked out to run across his upper lip.  
She didn't answer, only pressed the knife to his throat enough to get him moving towards the door.  
He was right, though. She had to fight, she'd learned it young. The only way to get what you wanted was to fight for it. And if she was willing to fight for anyone, it was Killian.

—-  
Later, laying beside Killian in bed, she knew something was wrong. He was stiff and uncomfortable, staring at the ceiling, the clock, anywhere but her.  
(She hadn't told him of the guest, not willing to frighten him over nothing. If he came back she was ready. No one needed to know, and the evidence was gone. Her fingers still burned from how vehemently she'd scrubbed the cocoa pot).  
"What's wrong?"  
"I'm fine."  
When she finally managed to drag it out of him, her heart jolted.  
"I just… don't wish to burden you, love," he muttered, refusing to meet her eyes. He opened his mouth to continue but she didn't need to hear anymore.  
"Look at me," she ordered, rolling on her side to face him. He rolled over but refused to meet her eyes. "At me, Killian," she repeated and he finally looked at her. His eyes were soft and scared and that usually hidden uncertainty was now all front and center.  
"You are…" she paused, trying to think of all the right words but knowing they'd inevitably come out wrong no matter what she said. His eyes searched hers cautiously and she sighed softly, opening her mouth without a plan, but overcome with him. Just him. The way his brow furrowed when he spoke seriously and how he clung to every word off her tongue and how he chewed just slightly on his lower lip when he was nervous. How his eyes pierced right through her in the best possible way and how completely he knew her. How complete she felt with him.  
"I… I love you," her voice faltered in the middle but the comforting relief that was flooding his features allowed her just enough breath to finish. He was breathing softer now, body loose and a faint smile on his lips. He reached out, softly running his fingers down her jawline.  
He didn't have to answer. She could read it on his face as she cuddled against his chest and into his protective hold, letting his steady heartbeat lull her to sleep.


End file.
